is shakespeare dead1-第2章

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　and　a　choice　had　to　be　made：　　I　let　principle　go；　and　went　over　to　the　other　side。　　Not　the　entire　way；　but　far　enough　to　answer　the　requirements　of　the　case。　　That　is　to　say；　I　took　this　attitudeto　wit；　I　only　BELIEVED　Bacon　wrote　Shakespeare；　whereas　I　KNEW　Shakespeare　didn't。　　Ealer　was　satisfied　with　that；　and　the　war　broke　loose。　　Study；　practice；　experience　in　handling　my　end　of　the　matter　presently　enabled　me　to　take　my　new　position　almost　seriously；　a　little　bit　later；　utterly　seriously；　a　little　later　still；　lovingly；　gratefully；　devotedly；　finally：　　fiercely；　rabidly；　uncompromisingly。　　After　that　I　was　welded　to　my　faith；　I　was　theoretically　ready　to　die　for　it；　and　I　looked　down　with　compassion　not　unmixed　with　scorn　upon　everybody　else's　faith　that　didn't　tally　with　mine。　　That　faith；　imposed　upon　me　by　self…interest　in　that　ancient　day；　remains　my　faith　today；　and　in　it　I　find　comfort；　solace；　peace；　and　never…failing　joy。　　You　see　how　curiously　theological　it　is。　The　〃rice　Christian〃　of　the　Orient　goes　through　the　very　same　steps；　when　he　is　after　rice　and　the　missionary　is　after　HIM；　he　goes　for　rice；　and　remains　to　worship。

Ealer　did　a　lot　of　our　〃reasoning〃not　to　say　substantially　all　of　it。　　The　slaves　of　his　cult　have　a　passion　for　calling　it　by　that　large　name。　　We　others　do　not　call　our　inductions　and　deductions　and　reductions　by　any　name　at　all。　　They　show　for　themselves　what　they　are；　and　we　can　with　tranquil　confidence　leave　the　world　to　ennoble　them　with　a　title　of　its　own　choosing。

Now　and　then　when　Ealer　had　to　stop　to　cough；　I　pulled　my　induction…talents　together　and　hove　the　controversial　lead　myself：　　always　getting　eight　feet；　eight　and　a　half；　often　nine；　sometimes　even　quarter…less…twainas　_I_　believed；　but　always　〃no　bottom；〃　as　HE　said。

I　got　the　best　of　him　only　once。　　I　prepared　myself。　　I　wrote　out　a　passage　from　Shakespeareit　may　have　been　the　very　one　I　quoted　awhile　ago；　I　don't　rememberand　riddled　it　with　his　wild　steamboatful　interlardings。　　When　an　unrisky　opportunity　offered；　one　lovely　summer　day；　when　we　had　sounded　and　buoyed　a　tangled　patch　of　crossings　known　as　Hell's　Half　Acre；　and　were　aboard　again　and　he　had　sneaked　the　PENNSYLVANIA　triumphantly　through　it　without　once　scraping　sand；　and　the　A。　T。　LACEY　had　followed　in　our　wake　and　got　stuck；　and　he　was　feeling　good；　I　showed　it　to　him。　　It　amused　him。　　I　asked　him　to　fire　it　off　READ　it；　read　it；　I　diplomatically　added；　as　only　HE　could　read　dramatic　poetry。　　The　compliment　touched　him　where　he　lived。　　He　did　read　it；　read　it　with　surpassing　fire　and　spirit；　read　it　as　it　will　never　be　read　again；　for　HE　know　how　to　put　the　right　music　into　those　thunderous　interlardings　and　make　them　seem　a　part　of　the　text；　make　them　sound　as　if　they　were　bursting　from　Shakespeare's　own　soul；　each　one　of　them　a　golden　inspiration　and　not　to　be　left　out　without　damage　to　the　massed　and　magnificent　whole。

I　waited　a　week；　to　let　the　incident　fade；　waited　longer；　waited　until　he　brought　up　for　reasonings　and　vituperation　my　pet　position；　my　pet　argument；　the　one　which　I　was　fondest　of；　the　one　which　I　prized　far　above　all　others　in　my　ammunition…wagon　to　wit；　that　Shakespeare　couldn't　have　written　Shakespeare's　words；　for　the　reason　that　the　man　who　wrote　them　was　limitlessly　familiar　with　the　laws；　and　the　law…courts；　and　law…proceedings；　and　lawyer…talk；　and　lawyer…waysand　if　Shakespeare　was　possessed　of　the　infinitely　divided　star…dust　that　constituted　this　vast　wealth；　HOW　did　he　get　it；　and　WHERE　and　WHEN？

〃From　books。〃

From　books！　　That　was　always　the　idea。　　I　answered　as　my　readings　of　the　champions　of　my　side　of　the　great　controversy　had　taught　me　to　answer：　　that　a　man　can't　handle　glibly　and　easily　and　comfortably　and　successfully　the　argot　of　a　trade　at　which　he　has　not　personally　served。　　He　will　make　mistakes；　he　will　not；　and　cannot；　get　the　trade…phrasings　precisely　and　exactly　right；　and　the　moment　he　departs；　by　even　a　shade；　from　a　common　trade…　form；　the　reader　who　has　served　that　trade　will　know　the　writer　HASN'T。　　Ealer　would　not　be　convinced；　he　said　a　man　could　learn　how　to　correctly　handle　the　subtleties　and　mysteries　and　free…　masonries　of　ANY　trade　by　careful　reading　and　studying。　　But　when　I　got　him　to　read　again　the　passage　from　Shakespeare　with　the　interlardings；　he　perceived；　himself；　that　books　couldn't　teach　a　student　a　bewildering　multitude　of　pilot…phrases　so　thoroughly　and　perfectly　that　he　could　talk　them　off　in　book　and　play　or　conversation　and　make　no　mistake　that　a　pilot　would　not　immediately　discover。　　It　was　a　triumph　for　me。　　He　was　silent　awhile；　and　I　knew　what　was　happeninghe　was　losing　his　temper。　And　I　knew　he　would　presently　close　the　session　with　the　same　old　argument　that　was　always　his　stay　and　his　support　in　time　of　need；　the　same　old　argument；　the　one　I　couldn't　answer；　because　I　dasn'tthe　argument　that　I　was　an　ass；　and　better　shut　up。　　He　delivered　it；　and　I　obeyed。

O　dear；　how　long　ago　it　washow　pathetically　long　ago！　　And　here　am　I；　old；　forsaken；　forlorn；　and　alone；　arranging　to　get　that　argument　out　of　somebody　again。

When　a　man　has　a　passion　for　Shakespeare；　it　goes　without　saying　that　he　keeps　company　with　other　standard　authors。　　Ealer　always　had　several　high…class　books　in　the　pilot…house；　and　he　read　the　same　ones　over　and　over　again；　and　did　not　care　to　change　to　newer　and　fresher　ones。　　He　played　well　on　the　flute；　and　greatly　enjoyed　hearing　himself　play。　　So　did　I。　　He　had　a　notion　that　a　flute　would　keep　its　health　better　if　you　took　it　apart　when　it　was　not　standing　a　watch；　and　so；　when　it　was　not　on　duty　it　took　its　rest；　disjointed；　on　the　compass…shelf　under　the　breastboard。　　When　the　PENNSYLVANIA　blew　up　and　became　a　drifting　rack…heap　freighted　with　wounded　and　dying　poor　souls　（my　young　brother　Henry　among　them）；　pilot　Brown　had　the　watch　below；　and　was　probably　asleep　and　never　knew　what　killed　him；　but　Ealer　escaped　unhurt。　　He　and　his　pilot…house　were　shot　up　into　the　air；　then　they　fell；　and　Ealer　sank　through　the　ragged　cavern　where　the　hurricane…deck　and　the　boiler…deck　had　been；　and　landed　in　a　nest　of　ruins　on　the　main　deck；　on　top　of　one　of　the　unexploded　boilers；　where　he　lay　prone　in　a　fog　of　scald　and　deadly　steam。　　But　not　for　long。　　He　did　not　lose　his　headlong　familiarity　with　danger　had　taught　him　to　keep　it；　in　any　and　all　emergencies。　　He　held　his　coat…lapels　to　his　nose　with　one　hand；　to　keep　out　the　steam；　and　scrabbled　around　with　the　other　till　he　found　the　joints　of　his　flute；　then　he　took　measures　to　save　himself　alive；　and　was　successful。　　I　was　not　on　board。　　I　had　been　put　ashore　in　New　Orleans　by　Captain　Klinenfelter。　　The　reasonhowever；　I　have　told　all　about　it　in　the　book　called　OLD　TIMES　ON　THE　MISSISSIPPI；　and　it　isn't　important；　anyway；　it　is　so　long　ago。


II

When　I　was　a　Sunday…school　scholar；　something　more　than　sixty　years　ago；　I　became　interested　in　Satan；　and　wanted　to　find　out　all　I　could　about　him。　　I　began　to　ask　questions；　but　my　class…teacher；　Mr。　Barclay；　the　stone…mason；　was　reluctant　about　answering　them；　it　seemed　to　me。　　I　was　anxious　to　be　praised　for　turning　my　thoughts　to　serious　subjects　when　there　wasn't　another　boy　in　the　village　who　could　be　hired　to　do　such　a　thing。　　I　was　greatly　interested　in　the　incident　of　Eve　and　the　serpent；　and　thought　Eve's　calmness　was　perfectly　noble。　　I　asked　Mr。　Barclay　if　he　had　ever　heard　of　another　woman　who；　being　approached　by　a　serpeant；　would　not　excuse　herself　and　break　for　the　nearest　timber。　　He　did　not　answer　my　question；　but　rebuked　me　for　inquiring　into　matters　above　my　age　and　comprehension。　　I　will　say　for　Mr。　Barclay　that　he　was　willing　to　tell　me　the　facts　of　Satan's　history；　but　he　stopped　there：　　he　wouldn't　allow　any　discussion　of　them。

In　the　course　of　time　we　exhausted　the　facts。　　There　were　only　five　or　six　of　them；　you　could　set　them　all　down　on　a　visiting…card。　　I　was　disappointed。　　I　had　been　meditating　a　biography；　and　was　grieved　to　find　that　there　were　no　materials。　I　said　as　much；　with　the　tears　running　down。　　Mr。　Barclay's　sympathy　and　compassion　were　aroused；　for　he　was　a　most　kind　and　gentle…spirited　man；　and　he　patted　me